


Souls Made of Flame

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AND I REFUSE TO READ IT, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, And built a canon around it, I DON'T KNOW I HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM IN A WHILE, I don't know how to write monarchy, I just got caught up in how cool Jon would look, M/M, No knowledge needed I think?, Slow Burn, Stardust AU, This is so off track from Stardust canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: A star can fall, sometimes, if it's heart becomes too heavy. Too joined to the world that it was born to watch over.Jonathan Sims finds this a terrible inconvenience. Martin Blackwood just finds him.





	1. Shooting, Soaring

**Author's Note:**

> 'Another series couldn't hurt' I whisper. I'm wrong but will it stop me? No. I love these two too much.

The King was dying. That’s what the word in the villages and towns was, spreading like wildfire from lips eager to be the bearer of good news. King Lukas was not a liked man, nor even a particularly good King. His reign had felt... Well, people struggled to put it into words. _Empty._ _Vague. Like he’d done nothing much at all. Like he wasn’t even there_. He’d not raised taxes, nor waged any wars save the coup that brought him to power, but he’d done little to aid when a famine struck, nor did he provide services when a flood washed away an entire village on the kingdom’s border.

The only notable event was his marriage. He’d come to power already a widower, with several children taking on royal duties while just as many were content to do the opposite. All were dead or didn’t associate with the crown by the time his end drew near. _‘Poisoning’_ was the word that spread, but the original used was ‘ _Corruption.’_

He’d married a Noble, a cousin or something of the old King, who didn’t seem to mind sleeping with the enemy, in the literal sense no less. It was him who stood by his beside now, pacing back and forth, look on his face more irritable than to be expected from one whose  spouse was dying.

‘Peter, stop talking shit. What do you _mean_ you’re not giving me the throne?’ he spat. His fists were clenched and he stared daggers at his husband, who, for his part, looked rather amused given the context.

His voice was shallow, but still brimming with a smug amusement. ‘Precisely that. I’m not defaulting to you. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped? Had a break? You’re an old man, Elias’

‘Peter we’re the same age!’ retorted Elias, who liked to think he didn’t look a day over fifty.

‘And how old is that? One century, two… It’s hard to keep track,’ Peter chuckled. ‘I mean you do have a chance, of course. My only other eligible relative, the throne will be going to him, but not that he knows that. If you find him. Well. It wouldn’t be a tragedy if something were to happen as you escorted him here, now would it?’

Elias’s lip curled. ‘Seriously? This is what you’re doing? Making it some kind of game?’

‘You always did love a challenge,’ Peter mocked.

Elias strode forward, leaning down to speak directly into his husbands face. ‘I’ll see you in hell.’

Peter winked. ‘I’ll be waiting, dear.’

And with that, the King died.

* * *

Martin Blackwood was not brave. He learned this when he was seven, and an older boy threw a punch to the side of his head, feeble at best but enough to leave him dazed, when they found him trying to nurse a sick bird back to health. But he was kind, he was told, by the old lady who found him in turn and helped him to his feet. Martin Blackwood was not smart. This he was told when he was sixteen and failing half his classes, because half the time he wasn’t in school. But he was determined, he learned, still trying to make it in whenever he could, despite having to spend more and more time caring for his ailing mother.  
Martin Blackwood was not to go over the wall. This he always knew, a memory of a lesson so deeply ingrained into his psyche he couldn’t help but become fascinated by the question of _why_ .  
He learned quickly the answer was ‘Boy, learn when to shut your mouth. And shut the door, too, on your way out.’

But compassion, stubbornness and curiosity was not going to get him far in the village he called home, with his mother as frail as she was. She needed care those things alone couldn’t provide.

So he had a few options. He could try and marry well, which seemed the most pleasant of the three. It wouldn’t be hard either. He worked in the bakery most days, short shifts in the morning preparing that days goods, before his mother was awake. The baker's daughter had always doted on him, and she was sweet, like the treats she snuck into his apron pocket when he wasn’t paying attention, but the concept of marrying her just for her money made Martin feel queasy. He didn’t want to use someone just for that. She was a good person, and deserved true love.

So that was one strike out. The second was his least preferable, and he dreaded he’d thought to put it on his mental list at all, but, well, who needs two kidneys anyway. The doctor at the edge of the village was always paying. Not that anyone would admit to receiving said payment.  
The third he didn't plan on.

It had been an unassuming evening so far. His mother was asleep, or at least sick of him enough to send him away early, and he was cleaning up downstairs, windows open to let in the early summer breeze. And you couldn’t _blame_ him for pausing, and staring wistfully out at the wall.

He’d pieced two and two together years ago, knew why his mother would scald him if his gaze lingered too long on the trees that lay just on the other side of the crumbling stonework. He didn’t remember much of his father, save that he had one, but he knew, checked several times, that the graveyard nearby held no stones that bore a name or date that would made sense. So he knew he went over the wall. He had to have. Sure, he could have just gone a normal way, got on a cart and left but… Well, Martin figured that was kind of boring. He was somewhat of a romantic like that.

But this only made him want to focus on it more. Of course no one else was allowed to cross either, but he always felt like that rule was designed to annoy him specifically. He’d try to write about it sometimes, put it down in his poetry, but the words never quite came out right. It’s what he’d been doing then, dishcloth still in one hand, but eyes intently tracing the crumbling stonework.

_A barrier,_  
_Not just of land,_ _  
_ But of worlds unseen…

And a flicker, arching from behind it, curling through the sky and almost gone as soon as it came. But Martin definitely saw it, breath hitched as it dragged his focus upwards to watch. A falling star, tumbling down, into the forest behind the wall. This was all too tempting.

Surely he could make it? Dash the short distance to the wall, hop it, grab whatever precious substance was left after the flaming trail collided with the ground and make it back before anyone noticed he was gone. He could sell it, he was sure someone would take it, for science or simply as a trinket to put on a shelf somewhere. Simple. Now he just had to work up the nerve to do it.

He felt like she would notice, if he left. Something she could sense, his paranoia told him. He forced it back down. This was too good an opportunity, he had to take it. He hastily grabbed some paper and jotted a note.

‘ _Mrs Johnson,_

_If you see this, something has gone wrong._  
_But I’ll be back, I hope,_ (God forbid, he didn’t add)  
Please make sure mother is cared for, if all goes well I should be able to repay you upon my return.

_Please apologise to her for me._

_-Martin ‘_

Mrs Johnson, Charlotte, was a friend of his mothers who often visited when he worked longer hours than usual at the bakery, as he was scheduled to do the next morning. He left the note for her on the table in the hall, so she couldn’t miss it as she came in. But surely it wouldn’t be necessary, he reminded himself. The star couldn’t have fallen more than a twenty minute jog from the wall. But there was the task of finding it, and the forest did seem to loom taller at night, trees cutting an imposing figure he didn’t doubt he could easily lose himself in.

So it was just a precaution, he told himself, as he shut the door tight behind him.

The ground was soft under his shoes, grass still slick with the evenings earlier rain. Was running a bad idea? He didn’t want to _seem_ guilty, but casually striding over to the wall seemed wrong for something that felt so impactful. He was grateful he’d thought to not yet light the candle on the lantern he’d brought with him, the beacon of light in the dark sure to alert someone.

And suddenly he was at the wall. He paused, apprehension starting to set in. Could he truly do this? Go against what everyone in his home had ever said, and venture into the deep dark woods they all feared?

‘I’m twenty three years old, it’s just some trees the old folks get spooked about, I can do this,’ he whispered to himself. He slung one leg over the wall, then the other, and didn’t look back.

He eventually lit the lantern, hands shaking slightly. He tried to tell himself it was the cold, and not the nervous energy thrumming through him. It provided meagre comfort against the choking, cloying shadows around him, but it was enough to push forward.

He kept going straight, too afraid of veering off what he’d decided was the ‘track’, despite no signs of movement through the foliage scattering the ground. How long had he been going, five minutes, ten? His paranoia was building, begging him to turn back, when he saw a glint in the distance, just out of view behind the trees, radiating light out into the bleakness. _The star_. He had no idea how it was still burning, but it could only be it.

Breaking into a sprint, Martin tried not to trip on the roots and vines that grabbed at his feet and the brambles that snagged on his trousers, but he kept going, now driven by the fear that someone would reach this, his one chance, first, and take it away from under his nose.

It probably should have occurred to him that running straight towards a potential pit of fire was not a great idea, but Martin was too adrenaline fueled, and besides, there was an odd lack of heat emanating from the clearing.

He crashed against a tree at the clearings edge, one arm clinging around the rough bark, scraping his palms with friction, no breath left in his lungs. _He’d done it though, he’d gotten to his star_ he thought reverently. White spots danced in his vision, both from the sudden burst of exertion, and from the light in front of him. _He’d have to wait, right? For the fire to stop, for it to cool, to be able to carry it back?_

The spots began to fade, his vision becoming clear again, eyes locked on the centre of the clearing. He immediately all the air in his lungs was knocked out again.

_That was… That was certainly not a star._

There was a man in the crater, lying on his side, gangly limbs curled up awkwardly, eyes screwed shut. There was a skid mark that he lay at the end of, and dirt and dust clung to him as if he’d just been rolled through it. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black in the night, but silver streaks ran through it, and Martin could swear they were glinting. He wore formal attire, a silver waistcoat embroidered with swirling patterns that Martin couldn’t make out, a watch chain and polished shoes. His glasses were perched precariously on his nose, nearly slipping off but somehow undamaged in whatever had happened to him. _And Martin could swear he was glowing_ . Like, actually physically _glowing_.

Martin made a stammering noise, nothing coherent, just something to accompany the confusion rattling in his head, as he still leaned against the tree, clutching his lantern in one hand.

The man’s eyes snapped open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the poem '93 Percent Stardust'
> 
> I'm elf-grunge and radiosandrecordings on tumblr and I encourage you to yell at me about TMA


	2. Heavy Hearts

Jonathan Sims watched the world. Always had, and, if his grandmother was right, always will. And that was going to be for a long,  _ long _ time. But Star immortality had never really excited him. The world was big, and vast, and sprawling and so very far away from where he sat and watched and listened and waited. 

Waited for what he wasn’t sure. This was his lot in life. 

He was apprenticed as an archivist, taking down everything he learned of the world below. Some took down science, the greatest new breakthroughs in human technology, scribbling down long passages on what chemicals could do and how engineering was advancing. Some took down history, recounting tales of great battles, of political unrest, of times the world had changed in irreparable ways.

Jon took down stories. This was, in part, due to being so young. It was regarded as easy, a menial task for those who hadn’t yet  _ earned  _ a place higher, but Jon… Really didn’t mind it. Enjoyed it, even. He found something enrapturing about the tiny details in the lives of those he saw from so far above. A child's first steps into her mother's arms, a favourite book finished for the third time, the putting on of an old and battered coat to walk home from the pub. These details were trivial, meaningless, but Jon found them captivating. He couldn’t focus on one persons for long, always switching his gaze to the next tale, but he would sheepishly admit to going back to visit old favourites. 

But a Star’s heart is a fickle thing. Powerful, too. And Jon’s heart was not quite in his job. Filing the thoughts and feelings of other away wasn’t what excited him. That was the  _ knowing _ , the learning of intricacies in lives far more complex than he could ever lead. And so his glow began to fade. 

It was subtle at first, and he barely even noticed. But day after day, ever so slightly, the light he emitted across the night grew less and less.

Until one day, Jonathan Sims fell.

* * *

Jon was, to put it lightly,  _ in incredible pain _ . His shoulder stung, his ankle felt wretched, and the flames still trying to lick around him were doing nothing to help.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, ears ringing and eyes closed tight just begging for it to  _ stop _ . For time to reverse and him not to find himself in.. Whatever situation he was in.

The noise jolted him to a sense of coherence. There was something… Wrong, about it. Something that was all in one familiar and comforting, and so alien to him. Something so.. Human. Shit. 

He threw his eyes open, despite the fires searing heat. 

There was a human, a man, standing some metres away on a ledge, looking down at him. His eyes were blown wide, sandy blond hair windswept, and round, freckled face contorted in a look of confusion and awe. This was not good. 

The man abandoned his lantern, scrambling down into the crater Jon lay at the centre of. He knew he should get up, try and leave, but moving felt like too much effort, so he continued to attempt to curl in on himself, hoping the world would fade away. 

It very much did not, when the man crouched down next to him and lightly shook his shoulder, which seared with pain.

He gritted his teeth and let out a wheeze, causing the man to let go, but he continued to hover over him tentatively. 

‘Hello? Can you-  _ shit  _ \- can you hear me? Are you okay?’ The man's voice was still faint in Jon’s ringing ears, but his tone was soft. Jon just coughed at him. 

‘I’m gona- uh- I’m gona try and lift you, if that’s okay?’ Jon thought this was absolutely not okay, but couldn’t muster the strength to argue, so let himself be carefully scooped up.

The man was stronger than Jon expected, holding him with ease as he carried him up over the lip of the crater. Or maybe Jon was just lighter than he thought. He didn’t think it was a top priority to think about at the time, all things considering. 

Jon groaned as he was set down, back against the tree the man had previously been leaning against. He managed to roll his shoulder, which was starting to feel better already, but his ankle still sent a sharp jolt through his nerves when he moved it. The ringing in his ear had stopped, and he could hear his own shallow breathing, too fast and too panicked. 

The man was crouched next to him, wringing his hands nervously. He was fidgety, like his body desperately wanted to take the next course of action, but his brain couldn’t figure out what exactly that was. 

Eventually, he spoke. ‘Is your ankle okay? It’s kind of- twisted.’ 

Jon opened his mouth, and promptly spent the next thirty seconds trying to hack up the rest of the smoke that still infested his lungs. After, he managed to croak, ‘No, I think that’s kind of obvious.’ 

The man startled. ‘Oh! You can talk! Good, good!’ 

‘Why would you ask if you didn’t think I would reply?’ Jon retorted. He did cringe internally, a bit, at the acidity of his tone. While he’d only just met the guy, and found him already an annoyance, he  _ did  _ try to help him. 

‘Uh- force of habit, I guess.’

There was an awkward, lulling silence, only accompanied by the now more distant crackle of the still burning fire, before he spoke again. 

‘What are you doing out here? Did your carriage get hit?’ 

‘My what?’ 

‘Carriage. Are you not- well I just kind of assumed you were some kind of nobility or something, what with…’ the man didn’t finish, but gestured at Jon’s attire.

Jon laughed mirthlessly. ‘Nothing quite of that sort, I’m afraid, if you’re going to try and hold me ransom.’ 

He flinched, ‘What? No, no of course not it was just- never mind, I made an assumption.’ He stalled before adding, ‘But you got hit, right? Or caught near it?’ 

‘By what?’ 

The man peered closer, as if checking Jon for a head wound. ‘The star? It fell here, made that crator,’ some humour came into his voice when he added, ‘I hardly thought you were taking a nap there of your own volition.’ 

Jon paused, and chewed at his lip. Exactly how stupid  _ was he… _ _   
_ ‘Well yes, obviously.’

The man nodded, before a mournful look took over his face. ‘I suppose it burned up on entry then.  _ Dammit _ .’ It softened again, though, brown eyes sickeningly sincere as he added ‘At least you’re okay, mostly.’

‘Burnt up? Scorched I suppose, but the fire was hardly the worst of it.’ 

‘... I don’t follow?’ 

Jon gave him a look at surpassed withering, and was currently biodegrading. ‘Is it not obvious?’ 

‘No?’ He stuttered and, oh god he was wringing his hands again, ‘did I- did I say something wrong? Or do something? And oh- uh- I never introduced myself did I-‘ the man was clearly trying to cycle through every possible thing that wracked at his nerves, ‘-I’m Martin. Martin Blackwood.’ He reached out a hand.

Jon didn’t take it. Whatever was happening, he didn’t like this. The man was either foolish enough to not see what had blatantly happened, or this was some kind of rouse to capture him. And Jon knew what happened then. 

He’d only seen it happen once, barely remembered he was so young. Young by human years, and infinitely more so by Stars. A Star had fallen, Michael, he thought he recalled the name being. He’d lasted all of a week before his heart was torn from his chest, still bloody and beating. 

Jon was determined this would not happen to him. But there was little more he could do then and there. So he didn’t take the hand, only looked up to the taller man crouched next to him, locking their eyes. 

‘Hello, Martin Blackwood. I’m the Star.’ 

* * *

The witch yanked at the chain, startling the bird that circled over her. ‘Down here. Now,’ she snapped.

It swooped down, large and black, and perched itself on the edge of their caravan.

She spoke again, rounding on it. ‘Our patron has bestowed me with a gift. Knowledge that a star has fallen. And you know how long it’s been since the last time.’ 

He didn’t, actually. Longer than he’d been alive, the last time she managed to actually catch one, even with a fuzzy memory of the last one to actually fall having slipped through their fingers. 

‘We need to get moving if we want to be the first ones there, and I cannot afford to lose out again.’ As if for emphasis, she ran a bony hand over her shaved head, hair grey and wrinkles creasing her face in a way that managed to make her look more intimidating than she already was.

‘Get to work cleaning up and preparing. We leave when I return,’ she commanded, before turning again and whisking off down the side street nearest to where they’d set up shop. As she went, she stuck an arm out behind her, and snapped her fingers.

He sighed, and tugged at the chain around his ankle, like he hadn’t done so a million times before. Nothing. And so Gerard Keay got to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful friend Minna drew some art of Jon for this fic! (It's currently my profile pic)   
> The full image is on their tumblr, Minnatoko, https://minnatoko.tumblr.com/post/184904389538/i-read-radiosandrecordings-stardust-au-and-felt  
> Again I'm radiosandrecordings/elfgrunge on tumblr if you wana talk about this au because. I do. A lot.


	3. A Deal's A Deal

Martin blinked. ‘What?’

The man gave an irritable sigh and folded his arms, pointedly not taking the hand. ‘Well I’m not going to hide it. If you’re here to try and kill me… just try it.’

Martin laughed nervously, ‘Try and kill you? Star? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head, here let me take a look,’ he leant forward again, trying to get another look, but the man moved back, stumbling to his feet and pressing his back against the tree.

‘Do you… Really not know what I’m talking about?’ Eventually came the response. He was looking at the ground now, eyes trained on the grass made damp by evening mist.

Martin shook his head.

The man clenched a fist to his side and took in a breath, then raised his head to meet Martin’s gaze. ‘ **_Do you truly not understand the true nature of Stars?_ **’

And suddenly Martin felt like his soul was being torn out through his throat. ‘No, no I really, truly have no idea what you mean. I came here, ran, from Wall. I was looking for the star, I thought I could sell it. My mother, she’s sick, and it would help her get better care, help me afford it. So I came here to bring it back, but instead I found… You,’ Martin gasped out, words spilling over each other in their haste to escape.

And the man’s _eyes_ . They’d once been a stormy grey, not that Martin had been paying particular attention, but now they were a pupiless inky blank, gazing directly at him, with no way to focus but all at once _too focused_ . And the flecks of white that shone through them, like dots of pure light that had dripped into their depths. They were terrifying, inhuman, _beautiful_.

And all at once they were gone, and he was staring back at an expression as stoney as their colour.

‘You came from Wall? As in, the other side of?’

‘Yes? I ran here - What just happened?’ Martin still felt a hollowness in his chest, the ache of information torn from him.

The man had what could almost be considered a smile on his face now, in that disbelieving way. ‘You have no idea what any of this means,’ he let out a low chuckle, and put a hand to his forehead. ‘Just go home, Martin. This doesn’t concern you.’

Martin surprised himself when he firmly stated, ‘No. You’re going to tell me what you just did, and what the hell any of this means.’

The man looked taken aback by this. Confliction flashed over his face, before he sighed reluctantly. ‘All right. Fine. If you insist. But I can’t guarantee you’ll like what you hear. Your world, your ‘Wall’? This isn’t it. You crossed that barrier and something changed. This is not some forest near your home, this is a _shifted reality_. This world is not your own, magic is not a myth, and Stars are not just rocks in the sky. They watch over this world, record it, archive it, keep a recorded history of all that is known. There is… Some bleedover, but not your world. We can see over the wall, just as much as one standing on the other side could, but if I was to cross it, I would surely die.’

‘Okay.’

‘...What?’

‘I said okay. I believe you.’

The man squinted up at him. ‘You- Wait, really? It was that easy?’

‘I always thought there was something… Weird, about the wall. No one ever crossed it, and wouldn’t say why. Figured they probably had a good reason. And I can’t say I never imagined it would be like this because… Well, I did. Just thought it would always be that though. Just some kid’s imagination.’

‘Unfortunately not.’

There was a brief, awkward pause, before Martin rushed to fill it again. ‘So you’re… Really a Star?’

‘I thought you said you believed me?’

Hastily, ‘I do! I do- It’s just. Wow. Not where I thought this day was going. How- Sorry, if this is personal but- How did you end up here? Well-There,’ he added, gesturing to the crater next to them.

The reply came stiffly, ‘Stars fall. I did, if you couldn’t tell.’

Martin cursed internally. Too personal, then. This was going _great_ . Not that he particularly _needed_ to know, hell, _deserved_ to know, he’d only known the… - guy? Star? He _looked_ like a person, _felt_ like a person, when Martin had haphazardly carried him over here, but what was the technicality? - For barely half an hour, he wasn’t entitled to his life story. But he kinda wanted to know. To help.

‘... So what are you going to do now?’ He settled on as the appropriate response.

‘Not to repeat myself, but this doesn’t concern you. You should leave. Go back to Wall. This place isn’t safe, if you’re not used to it.’

‘... Well then you’re not safe either, are you?’

The look of confused surprise on the Star’s face was one Martin was becoming familiar with. ‘What?’

‘Well-’ Martin stammered, losing the confidence behind his words, ‘You’re not from here either. You’re no safer than I am. So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to _try_ and go home. Which _you should be doing also_.’

‘You’re going to try and climb back up to the sky?’

‘Well, no, not-’ The Star tried to argue over him but Martin was having none of it.

‘-Because I have the feeling it may be a little more complicated than that. So. I’m going to help you.’

And there was that look again, and at this point, Martin found it… Kind of endearing, nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. ‘You’re going to what?’

‘Help you. Get home. I can’t just leave you here, not in good conscience anyway.’

The Star had started to pace back and forth now in front of the tree, like he was trying to work feeling back into his ankle. ‘And what, you’re just going to follow me about until we _both_ get lost or killed? Stars tend to have a bit of a bounty on their head.’

Tentatively, ‘Why?’

He stopped pacing. ‘I.. Don’t have to answer that.’

Martin gave a weak smile. ‘No, ‘course not. It’d be easier, but no. I can’t do- Whatever _that_ was and make you tell me, which by the way I would also like to know what it’s whole,’ he made a weak hand gesture, ‘ _deal_ is. But I won’t push it, as long as you don’t do it again.’

The Star let out a short laugh, almost a nervous bark, and Martin wouldn’t want to call it mocking but it definitely sounded close. ‘If I tried to compel you again you wouldn’t have a choice, deal or not.’

‘So it is a deal?’

Martin could have sworn he heard the Star curse under his breath. ‘I.. Suppose I can’t stop you, if you insist on perusing this... Idiotic endeavour. But this doesn’t make us _friends._ You’re fulfilling some obligation, entirely unto yourself to follow me around like a headless chicken. But I’ll tolerate it.’

Before Martin could reply, the Star was adamantly trudging away. He turned, calling back over one shoulder ‘Well come on then. If you’re insisting on wasting my time, I’d like to get on with it.’

Martin grinned and hurried after him.

* * *

‘So remind me again why you’re still here?’ Elias said, trying to look dignified and regal even as his carriage raced over the bumping road.

The figure in front of him was pale, almost translucent, a faint white light radiating from the form. ‘Well it’s the rules, dear. No new monarch means I can’t pass on, so if you want me out of your beautiful hair, you better get to work.’

Elias took his now faintly smouldering cigar and tossed it. It sailed through his late husband and hit the bench he was sat on, scorching the plush velvet before dying out. Peter grinned smugly at him. ‘Nope, no touching, as much as that pains me.’

Elias just sneered at him. ‘So you’re along for the ride? What is it you want to see then, for me to succeed, or fail?’

‘Mmh I don’t really mind, actually. I’m sure you’ll be _very_ entertaining either way. What’s your plan then? To find him?’

‘Beholding Stones,’ Elias said, drawing a small pouch out of his pocket and pouring three, intricately carved eyes into his gloved palm.

Peter clicked his teeth. ‘A classic, and a favourite of yours, I should have known. How silly of me.’

Elias gave him a glare that might have attempted to kill him again, were he not already dead. ‘Would you kindly be quiet? I’m trying to See.’

Peter tilted his head, putting a finger to his lip in mock compliance.

Elias closed his eyes, breathing in, and closing his fist around the eyes.

After a few seconds, he drew a sharp breath in. ‘East, towards the border!’ He called, loud enough that the driver could hear. He held onto the bench as the carriage made a sharp turn in the new direction.

Peter smiled sweetly. ‘Border? My my, what a surprise. Wonder why he’s so far flung?’

One eyebrow raised, ‘Your family gets about, Peter,’ sent the ghost into a wheezing laugh.

‘Oh low _blow_ dear. Give a dead man a little more respect won’t you?’

‘I would if he would piss off and be dead already.’

The bickering continued for many more miles, with the coach driver only pausing a handful of times to question who the Lord was speaking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams! Are! Almost! Over! So I can update again hell yeah. This chapter kinda kicked my ass since they're (Jon) so MEAN to each other (Martin) but maybe when he calms down as has one nice emotion that'll help. Still concerning that I threw out Lonely Eyes in a few minutes but the JM took me like 2 weeks (Though exams I think are a fair hold up excuse) what does that say about my real loyalties
> 
> Maybe a short chapter up tomorrow or a really long one up later who knows not me
> 
> EDIT: I'M A FOOL AND FORGOT TO INCLUDE MY FRIENDS GREAT ART But @vissercomplex did some art of what's to come in later chapters! (Some sweet Jon's and a Martin in Tristan's ship outfit) https://vissercomplex.tumblr.com/post/185163281987/radiosandrecordingss-stardust-au-is-just


	4. Safe Havens

‘So.. Should I.. Call you something?’

They’d been walking in silence for quite a while before Martin plucked up the courage to speak again.

‘Hm?’ The Star looked over one shoulder, but didn’t stop. He didn’t seem to need the light to see his path, leading the way through the trees, but Martin still clutched the lantern in one hand for his own sake.

‘Like, a name? - Or would you just prefer I call you Star?’

That managed to draw a short laugh out of him. ‘Well I’m not very well going to go around calling you ‘Human’ am I?’

‘Well, no, but I did tell you my name after all,’ Martin stammered, unsure of how to deal with the sudden burst of humour.

There was a pause, before the Star finally spoke again. ‘... Jon.’

Martin ducked out of the way of a branch that the Star had passed easily under. Height was not an advantage in a dark forest, it appeared. ‘Hm?’

He rolled his eyes unsubtly. ‘You said you wanted something to call me. There’s your answer, Jon.’

‘Oh! Alright.’ Martin tried to mentally project the name onto him. Suited him well enough, he thought. Except- ‘Bit unoriginal, don’t you think?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, you get to choose a name and you go with ‘Jon’? Not something a little more… Out there? I know ‘Martin’ wasn’t a very bold choice of me, but mum liked it and I thought ‘Keats’ as a middle was a fair compromise. But I was expecting something... more? Not very  _celestial_ is it? … Can I say that? Anyway, I was expecting you to choose something like ‘Orion’ or ‘Sirius’ or- or ‘Nova’ or something.’

Jon gave him a flat look. ‘Well I imagine my parents had some kind of reasoning in mind when they gave me it.’

Martin could suddenly feel himself looking rather sheepish. ‘Wait, really? Like, that’s your name? Stars have actual, like, people names?’

‘Yes? Did you think I just made one up on the spot? We  _are_ people, you know. So yes, Jon. Short for Jonathan. Jonathan Sims.’

‘Oh,’ Martin said softly. He tried an apologetic smile. ‘Uh- sorry. For, uh, assuming. Sorry.’

Jon made a huffing noise, but there didn’t seem to be any malice behind it. ‘It’s alright. Suppose it doesn’t quite fit the whole romanticised concept humans have seemed to build about us, but I suppose if I fit the mould I wouldn’t be here, now would I.’

‘.. I don’t quite understand everything yet, but I feel like that was self deprecation?’

Another small laugh. ‘Yes, Martin, you would be correct.’ He narrowly made it across a small creek that crossed their path, foot nearly slipping on the moss covered rock used as a stepping stone. He gritted his teeth, ‘Careful on that one.’

Martin managed not to fall in, before resuming, ‘Well- Stop that. No self deprecation on my watch, okay? We’re gona get you back up there.’ Jon gave a soft noise in response, somewhere between resignation and disbelief. Slowly, Martin added, ‘.. And it’s nice. It’s a nice name, I think. Sounds  _smart_. Suits you.’

And there it was again, that small disbelieving smile. ‘I will ignore the obvious backtracking and take the compliment.’

Martin grinned with self satisfaction, before it quickly became a yawn. ‘Sorry, sorry, not used to being up so late, let alone this much hiking. Never quite been the outdoorsy type.’

‘What? Oh. Right. Night is like..  _Night_  for you. Yes I suppose you must be tired.’

‘Do Stars not sleep?’

‘Of course we do. We just do it during the day. Night is when we have better things to be doing. Shining and all that. It’s rare a Star would be out during the day, and even then the sun means you’d hardly be able to see them.’

‘And do you ever?’

‘Do I ever what?’

‘Go out in the day. You said it’s rare, so it happens. Just curious is all.’

‘I… Have been known to, sometimes. Sleep does not come easily to me, and watching has always been… Rather interesting, really. You don’t see much at night. You can see the impacts, see what happened over the course of the day, sure, the  _whos_  and the  _whys_ and the  _wheres_ , but you don’t get to see- see the  _people_. And I’ve always thought that that’s a shame.’

‘Is that what humans are then? Entertainment to you?’ There was no malice in his voice, just curiosity.

Jon puffed out his cheeks slightly, and Martin held back a laugh. ‘Well  _no,_ obviously not, but surely you would be curious too? And- anyway, this wasn’t supposed to be about me. You’re tired. Do you- are you sure you shouldn’t go back?’

‘No, no, you’re not getting rid of me already, you made me a deal,’ Martin said, but he could tell that wasn’t the intention in Jon’s voice, that it was, somewhat amazingly, genuine concern. ‘I’ll be fine. The important thing is we get…’ A slow realisation dawned on Martin’s face as he realised he didn’t actually know how to finish that. ‘.. Where are we going?’

There was a pause as Jon busied himself trying not to trip over a root.

‘.. Jon do you even know where we’re going?’

‘Not… Specifically, no. But there’s towns nearby, I thought it was just best to pick a direction  _away_ from Wall and keep going until we found somewhere. Procure some kind of service or item or magic or something that could get both you and I where we need to be.’

‘You mean like that?’ Martin said, gesturing ahead of them.

Jon whipped around, before his eyes fell on what Martin had already seen. A large, wood and stone building stood out in the close distance, thatched roof, tavern sign swinging gently out front and smoke billowing from the chimney stacks making a welcoming site. It glowed a gentle gold, light pouring out of the windows and into the forest surrounding it.  

His mouth sounded dry. ‘... Well. Yes. Something like that would be a good place to start.’

It took another few minutes of wandering through the leafy canopy of oaks and pines before they finally reached the small gravel path leading to the inn. Martin thought it was the most wonderful building he’d ever seen. It was everything he’d ever thought of as being ‘homely’ while having an air of mystery. It looked magical, he thought, and knew that here and now that could probably be taken literally.

As they drew closer Martin soaked in the detail. Ivy climbed the walls, curling snugly against where it wrapped around a small third floor window, white flowers entangled among the vines. A stable stood off to the side, and he could hear the gentle whinney of horses inside, though none made themselves known at the door. The tall grass that bordered the path was dry as it brushed against his calves. ‘Is the weather different here? It had- It had been raining, back in Wall. The grass was still damp.’

‘Hm? Oh, no I don’t think it is. Same sky, clouds pass over the wall same as anything,’ Jon muttered absantly, taking in the glowing vista in front of them. And there, he could swear a silver glint reflected off him, too, too faint to see against the welcoming hearth light of the inn, drawing them in like a moth to a flame. Martin shrugged both it, and the weather off, in favour of stepping up to the solid wooden door.

He hesitantly raised a hand to the large, iron knocker that hung against it. He began to say ‘Do I knock? Or do I just-’ before he was interrupted by the door letting out a groan as it was wrenched open from the inside.

‘Hello!’ A cheerful voice greeted, a grinning face to match appearing the doorway.

Martin stepped back, startled. Jon caught him, one hand on his shoulder, before he could stumble off the front step entirely. There was a short moment, both frozen, before Jon dropped his hand, and pushed his way in front to speak to the woman. ‘Hello, I hope it’s not too late for services here?’

The woman was dressed casually, apron tied round her waist, worn leather contrasting with the white of her blouse and dark red of her skirt. Her hair was tied back in a ribbon, swathes of curling red hair pushed away from her still smiling face. ‘Oh why of course not! Who would we be to turn a customer away? Come in, come in, out of the night with you!’

There was a lurch in Martin’s gut at that, but he didn’t dare bring it up set, simply following Jon as the woman gestured them inside.

He didn’t realise how cold the night air was until he stepped into the entrance, immediately greeted by a roaring fireplace casting a cosy warmth about the room. It was a fairly standard inn, from what Martin knew, though he himself had never stayed in one before, only ever leaving on day trips, the times he ever left Wall at all.

The main area was empty of any other patrons, the tables cleared and seats bare. A bar stood at one end, one man leaning casually behind it filling a tankard from a keg, while another swept nearby. Though they looked nothing alike, there was something about them, a cohesion to their movement, that struck Martin.  _Twins?_ He vaguely thought.

‘What can we do for you boys?’ The woman asked, hands folded in front of her, voice lilting.

Jon shot Martin a look as he attempted to suppress a yawn. ‘Yes, can we- Would we be able to take a room for the evening?’

Her smile grew wider. Martin wasn’t sure how it wasn’t painful. ‘Of course, just one?’

Martin felt his face flush, before Jon stammered ‘Yes, one is.. One will be fine, thank you.’

Martin resolved to worry about that later, and turned to the more pressing issue. ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we.. Don’t really have any way to pay.’

There was a shine across her eyes as she replied, ‘Oh, that’s not a problem, it would hardly be fair of me to turn you out now, now would it?’

‘That’s… Very kind of you, thank you,’ Martin replied.

‘Should I show you to your room then?’ She asked, already starting towards the stairs. Jon nodded, and they both followed behind.

‘Loft room, dears, I hope that’s okay?’ she crooned, stepping up onto a second set of stairs and pushing the door at the top open.

‘Anything is more than enough, thank you,’ Martin replied, ‘We’re incredibly grateful for the hospitality.’

‘I’ll leave you to get settled then,’ she said, door shutting behind her.

‘Well that was.. Unsettling,’ Jon said, waiting a few seconds for the footsteps to echo down the stairs and away from the door.

‘.. Quite,’ Martin nodded. He turned his attention to the room. The same golden light spilled from lanterns hanging from the ceiling, illuminating a dresser, drawer, and bed. The patchwork quilting was warm and inviting, tempting him to crawl immediately in. ‘What did she say her name was?’

Jon gave him a grimace, ‘She didn’t.’ There was a pause before Jon cleared his throat and added, ‘You should, uh, get some sleep.’

‘Will you be.. Okay?’

‘Yes, yes I’ll just… Go for a walk. Try and figure out the, uh, plan of action, as it were.’

‘Oh, no sleep, of course.’ Martin said, placing his own lantern down next to the dresser, candle long since flickering out.

Jon nodded. ‘Right, well, I’ll just be- Sleep well, Martin.’ He slipped out the door, and closed it quietly behind him.

Martin stretched, shrugging his jacket off and placing it at the foot of the bed. The duvet was exactly as soft as he had hoped as he climbed under it, pulling it tight around him. His eyes were already closing as he thought, somewhat absently, that he wouldn’t have minded so much if Jon had wanted to share it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Marto? That's pretty gay 
> 
> No B plot in this one, but the next chapter will have a big-ish one while Jon goes on An Adventure himself 
> 
> Still radiosandrecordings and elf-grunge on tumblr if you wana talk this au! I do twitter now too as @elfgrunge and sometimes I yell about writing


	5. Facades

As the door clicked closed behind him, Jon scanned the landing. They were the only room at the top of the stairs, the only other door being a sparse washroom. The stairs were difficult at best to descend, seeming more like a sloping ladder, now enhanced by the decline. He didn’t like how trapping it made the attic room feel, and quickly made his way down. 

The floor below was larger, holding several more doors into guest rooms, and a communal washroom. Two of the doors sat ajar, no candles lit but moonlight streaming in through the window illuminating pressed sheets and spotless floors, rooms ready to welcome guests in. 

So why go to the trouble of putting them in the attic?

The third and fourth door were closed, one with light creeping out from under, another dark. 

He debated knocking on the lit room. He hadn’t noticed any other guests in the main tavern downstairs, and he had already decided he wished to speak to the innkeep as little as possible for the remainder of their stay, hospitable or not. There was obviously an occupant behind the door, and he needed directions, advice,  _ something  _ that didn’t leave him and his somewhat begrudgingly accepted new companion struggling through a forest for hours on end, going who knows where. 

He steeled his decision, and rapped three times on the door before it swung open. The occupant hadn’t moved to open it, still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring ahead. Jon couldn’t quite gauge his age, anywhere between thirty and fifty, with thinning hair and a pale face, expression entirely neutral. 

‘Oh- Uh, sorry, mustn’t have been, uh, closed properly,’ Jon said, stumbling through an apology.  _ Great job, Jon, just blame the guy for your own intrusion. Maybe blame him for you lack of plan, too, and your own bloody falling in the first place while you’re at it.  _

‘Not a problem.’ He said simply, head swiveling to face Jon. 

‘I was just wondering- Would you happen to know the way to the nearest market town? My.. companion, and I, we’re trying to acquire new supplies and I’m afraid we’ve got a bit- turned around, without a map.’

A small, sweet smile came over his face, before replying, ‘Now, why would you need to do that?’ 

‘Excuse me?’

‘Why would you need supplies? Everything you need is here.’ 

‘Well, we need more than an inn can provide, it’s-’ Jon attempted to reply, but the man either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, continuing to talk over him. 

‘Warm beds, good food,’ he laughed, ‘cheap beer. What else could you ask for?’ 

‘Well, as I was saying, the supplies we need are a little more niche than-’ 

‘Why… Would you ever… Want to leave?’ 

And suddenly Jon  _ Saw him,  _ truly saw him for what he was. Where the skin had seemed pale, it now appeared sallow, stretched tight in places and hanging loosely in others, forming at once both near-translucent views of bone, and pockets of skin sagging off cheeks that didn’t move when he spoke. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, like sunken marbles, light reflecting off them, blown wide like a deer in carriage lights. 

Jon took several steps back, hand already on the door. But he had to ask. 

**_‘...What are you? What is this place?’_ **

 The thing’s throat  _ bulged _ , bubbling out like a frogs as it let out a choking laugh. ‘Oh, a Star, are we? I’ll have to tell the missus.’ It swayed slightly, at the waist, like at any moment it could tip over, before leaning in a new direction.

Jon gaped slightly, before it leered back and chuckled again. ‘Can’t compel anything out if there’s nothing inside. I’m just skin and bone,’ it tapped its head, and there was a hollow thud, ‘Empty. Wasn’t always. Now I am. I don’t want to leave this place, and I don’t think you should be doing so either.’ 

Jon was already out the door, throwing it closed behind him, the thing thudding against it as it failed in a bid to lunge at him, and he hadn’t noticed before but now was he ever so grateful that they locked from the outside. He knew it wouldn’t hold long, though. 

His heart hammered against his ribcage as he flung himself up the stairs, two at a time despite the steepness. He pressed his back against the door as he scrambled inside, breath shaking. ‘Martin. Martin get up. We need to go,  _ now _ .’ 

Martin bolted up, somewhat groggy but alert. ‘What? What’s wrong?’ 

‘We need to go. Something… Sinister, is here.’ He grabbed Martin’s lantern from the corner as the other man got up and pulled his jacket on. ‘I’m certain if we stay, they  _ will  _ kill us.’

He swung the door open again, gesturing for Martin to leave first, closing it behind them, and descending.

* * *

The tavern was quiet. If it had been rowdy once, Elias couldn’t tell, the hush falling over it as he strode in the door, polished shoes clacking audibly against rough hewn stone. He sat at the bar, trying not to let disdain curl his lip. He didn’t want to stop, but the horses needed resting.

Only one woman acknowledged him beyond a hushed whisper, a simple nod from a few stools down. 

‘Bit dolled up for this place, aren’t you? Got somewhere to be or do you just want to get robbed?’ 

He ran an eye over her coldly, leather gloves strumming against the bar. ‘A problem, witch?’ 

She stiffened at that, and he could practically feel her blood run cold.  _ Perfect _ .

‘Alright now, hush hush.’ She scanned the room, before getting up and moving to the stool next to him. Voice lowered, ‘If you’re going after my Star though, you best be prepared to fight for it.’ 

Now  _ that  _ was unexpected. A Star could really make this trip worth it, something more than a wild goose chase to fulfil Peter’s petty game. He shifted, turning to face her. ‘I’m looking for my nephew actually,’ A placid smile, ‘Actually, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a deal?’ 

She made a clear show of evaluating him, eyebrow raised, looking him up and down. ‘Deal?’ 

‘Yes. We’re both looking for someone, so I don’t see why a deal shouldn’t benefit us. I find your Star, and I pass him along to you. You find my nephew, send him my way. Sound fair?’ He handed over a pair of speech stones, ‘For if we have any luck.’ 

She squinted. ‘Witch’s honour?’ 

He smiled, sticking out a hand. ‘Witch’s honour.’ 

Each grimaced, and as he drew away he watched an emblem burn itself onto her palm. A ring, surrounded by fifteen icons, the recognised pillars of magic, all represented, present and equal. A witch’s deal. 

She gestured to his hand. ‘Glove off. Show me.’ 

He complied with a smile, deftly pulling off the soft calfskin, and holding out a hand to display the matching symbol. ‘Satisfy you?’

She nodded grouchily. 

‘Well, I best be off then. Ah, sorry, I never got your name?’ 

‘Mary Keay.’

‘Ah, Mary, wonderful. Thank you for your time. Be seeing you around then, all going well.’ 

‘And you?’

‘Hm?’ He paused halfway through the door.

‘Your name.’ 

Another sickly sweet smile. ‘Ah. Of course. Elias Bouchard.’ He delighted in watching what little colour was in her face drain from it as he closed the door behind him, making his way back to the newly re-hitched carriage. 

Peter was waiting inside. ‘Well, that was stupid of you now wasn’t it dear?’ 

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.’ 

‘You could have done with a Star. Keep those frown lines at bay. Now you’ve tossed it away. But if you need the help that badly…’ He stopped when he caught sight of Elias’s palm, then broke into a slow chuckle. ‘Now how did you do that?’ 

Elias curled his fingers along the smooth, unblemished skin, allowing himself a smirk. He took the glove still clutched in the other hand, and turned it inside out, displaying the mark sizzled into the lining. ‘Illusion. This is the true one. Holds no effect, binds nothing, not that she’ll be able to tell that.’ 

Peter laughed. ‘Impressive. I knew I didn’t just marry you for your looks.’

Elias pointedly ignored the comment, leaning forward and sliding a panel aside to speak to the driver, before leaning back as the cart jostled to movement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while, between this, the BB, and the Zine I'm kinda stretching myself thin, but I'm excited for the next few chapters especially! Should be a bit longer in future


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